


Burung Hantu

by pearthery



Series: for the birds [2]
Category: Gintama
Genre: Gen, Gintoki is sad, Introspection, Joui War, everyone is sad, shouyo is sad, the cliff scene, the summary is a ponyo reference yay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24038896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearthery/pseuds/pearthery
Summary: Shoyo on the cliff by the sea.
Relationships: Katsura Kotarou & Yoshida Shouyou, Oboro & Yoshida Shouyou, Sakata Gintoki & Yoshida Shouyou, Takasugi Shinsuke & Yoshida Shouyou
Series: for the birds [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734100
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	Burung Hantu

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back to episode 2 of meandering gintama pieces named after birds

The seabreeze, cold and callous, bites at his face. Shoyo searches for the calmness he has invested so much effort in nurturing but he can only last so long against the vicious, cutting fingers of the wind before he starts to crack at the weight of his knowledge. His knees imprint the mark of his position upon the grainy cliff, like the pale, weak roots of a coastal weed, endeavouring uselessly to carve out a home in a place where it does not belong. And now, just like a weed, the groundskeeper has come to pull him out.

He has always known how cruel the Naraku can be, how cruel Utsuro has taught them to be, but this is—perhaps—the most ruthless and merciless of their sins. 

After so long in the temple school, and far too long in the Naraku cells, Shoyo has forgotten the feeling of the earth against his skin. The Naraku kept him encased in concrete, far from the veins of the earth. Back then, they hadn't needed to worry. Shoyo has never been able to draw as much power from it as Utsuro. He'd spent most of his energy trying to keep Utsuro at bay. For the most part he had succeeded.

Now, though, he can feel the pulsing of his veins beneath his skin and beneath the soil. Is it because he is so close to death, Shoyo wonders. Or is it because he is scared, and angry, and sad, and so, so painfully human? Gintoki had always hated the tragedies when they studied them in class, and Shoyo now understands. It is a wretched irony that the one moment that Shoyo feels fully human is the one moment that he must give up. 

Where is the conviction he had urged Shinsuke to find in himself? Where is the control that he had admired in Kotarou's brilliant mind? Where is the compassion that had taught him and the faint little wisp he'd found among the corpses the wonder of humanity?

Shoyo looks towards the ground and finds that all of these emotions have fallen far from the tree, and he is left only with a desperate regret. 

He is to die today, Shoyo knows. Utsuro will burn down the forest he had painstakingly cultivated. It would mean nothing to him, like a man cutting off his left hand and watching as the bone and flesh wove itself back together. Utsuro has cut off a dozen of his left hands and Shoyo will be little more than the most recent of them.

Footsteps make their way towards him. Peering around the edge of his hanging head, Shoyo spies the bloodstained cloth of Gintoki's haori. He still wears his clothing loosely, like an ill-fitting skin, but the weight of it no longer seems to bother him, like it used to when he was younger and hated anything except the lightest, most threadbare of garments. But Gintoki is not as young as he once was. It has been years since he last saw them; all of them must have grown now.

Even still, Shoyo is glad to see them. It is a torment for a teacher to outlive any of his students, but Shoyo takes a selfish comfort in knowing that at least these three survive. It is a forlorn, doleful comfort that Shoyo's death will save them, because Shoyo's death will return Utsuro to the world, and he seeks to consume everything in time.

It occurs to Shoyo that he has missed and failed all of his students. Standing guard to the side and chained by heavy beads is Oboro, watching as Gintoki steps closer to their shared teacher. He would have been their senior disciple if Shoyo hadn't been so wary of being discovered again. He looms like an owl, sharp-eyed and sharp-taloned, before a sparrow, and Shoyo's regret swells once more. And, as it is with all of these human feelings, there is nothing Shoyo can do, not when he has failed already.

He cannot see them, but he can hear Shinsuke's furious struggles and imagine the gears whirring in Kotarou's brain as he pants. He looks up and meets Gintoki's eyes, grief-stricken and kind. They are as red as they were back on that abandoned battlefield and, for a moment, Shoyo relives an evening spent beneath the pine trees, damp with the tears of the heavens.

Shoyo has had his time, he supposes. It is alright that he does not have any more. Gintoki stands behind him, preparing to sacrifice his teacher's life for the sake of his fellow students. It is the choice Shoyo would have made himself, were he forced to choose between his life or theirs.

After this, they will be released. Oboro has always held to his word and the Naraku will have had their fill of suffering. Shoyo hopes they will recover. He hopes they will be fine.

He turns his head just a little more and smiles. Gintoki makes a choked noise in reply but he refuses to let his hands shake. What a stubborn child. What a considerate child. It's alright; the cut will only hurt for a second, no matter how clean it is. It is the grief that will ebb for an eternity afterwards.

"Thank you," says Shoyo gently. 

His words, though unintentional, don't surprise him. Shoyo truly is thankful for the years of joy these children had given him, and his regret is born of the knowledge that he will never see the joys of their futures. 

Gintoki's eyes widen, and they gleam wetly beneath the dull light, as warm and red as his beating heart. Kotarou and Shinsuke cannot hear him despite the dead silence of the scene; they are too far away and he speaks too softly, but Shoyo hopes they realise, if not today, then some day, how thoroughly they have marked his soul.

Shoyo watches as compassion bleeds slowly into Gintoki. He is hurting. His eyes are screaming above the soft, gentle curve of his mouth. Shoyo is so terribly selfish for the relief he feels at that reassuring smile, but perhaps that is just some other human thing he has learned in these past few years. 

Gintoki swings his sword down and Shoyo lets go. It's time for the chicks to leave the nest.

**Author's Note:**

> burung hantu means owl, but the direct translation is ghost bird, and what could be more haunting than that one terrible moment on the cliff. i hope my characterisation is alright


End file.
